The Eleventh Hour
by Little Miss Bovver
Summary: It's a year after the final fight. The guys have scattered, trying to get their lives back to how they were. Now, it's up to Dave to bring them back together again and make sure Pete isn't forgotten. Complete.
1. Introduction

My name's Dave Biano and last year my close friend, Pete Dunham, was killed in a scrap between rival firms; the GSE against the NTO, neither side willing to back down.

His name was Tommy Hatcher and he brought this firm to the ground.

Ned, Keith and myself were banged up and Hatcher was sent to Beckmore where he's serving life for first-degree murder. Prison life was tough. If you kept your nose clean, you usually got out unscathed. But, when there are guys in there that are deliberately trying to cause you trouble, it ain't as easy.

A year later and I'm out. Keith and Ned are trying to sort their lives out and I'm settling down with the missus. A big house, a good car, maybe even a few little 'uns in the future.

But, what happened to the others? Steve, Terry, Bov. How did the final fight that changed everything affect them? It's my time to find out.

This is my story.

And this is where I begin.


	2. The Beginning of Old

**I'm back! Apparently, I can't stay away from the GSH Fandom, as I broke my 'No-more-GSH-fics' rule. But, I'm hoping this is better. There are no OC characters (because my other fics have been Pete/OC, Bov/OC, etc) and set after Pete's death (and after GSH2. I've not put any (give or take) spoilers for the film in this, just in case anyone hasn't seen it). There are some people who I have just put name's to, like Ike's girlfriend (I named her Laura) and Pete's mum (Maria). **

**But, don't worry about this being set after Pete's death; there's a series of flashbacks which help with the story, where there will be plenty of Pete! **

**I have only written this chapter of the story so far. I've been on and off writing it for about six months. I've decided, if I upload it and get some reviews, it will spur me into writing more. So, if you want more, review and you shall get it!**

**Enough of my rambling, onto the story!**

--

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter one

The beginning of old

Dave lays in crumpled sheets, naked. His dark eyes study the ceiling, torso bathed in the sheen of light that is cast over the bed from the sun outside. The clock beside him reads 10.40AM and outside, cars pass the house.

There's a movement at his side and Red stirs, stretching in a cat-like fashion. 'Mornin',' she says lazily, stifling a yawn. She watches him, a slow smile spreading across her full lips, before she reaches out to ruffle a hand through his dark hair. Dave turns his head, kissing the inside of her wrist over her pulse point, before smiling.

'Mornin'.' It goes quiet again and Dave gazes back at the ceiling.

'What are you thinking about?' she asks quietly, fingers tracing circles on his chest.

'The old life,' he replies, shifting to put an arm around her. Red snuggles closer, auburn hair falling over her shoulders. 'I was thinkin' of maybe getting back with them.'

'Dave, not the-'

'Not the fighting,' he sighs. 'Just… I want to speak with 'em. To see 'em.' Red looks up at him. 'I just don't know where to start.'

'Don't you know where they live?' she asks, giving a frown that furrows her brow.

'Yeah; well, I know where Swill lives. But, Keith and Ned tried to get in contact with Bovver and he ain't nowhere to be seen. As for the Yank, he fucked off to American.'

'I could try an' facebook them, if you want?' she says in all seriousness. Dave looks down at her and laughs. Pulling her into a hug, he kisses her neck.

'I fuckin' love you sometimes,' he smiles. Red giggles and playfully bites the flesh on his arm.

--

Dave sits on a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, arms resting across the top as he gazes out at the hoards of people out enjoying the sunshine. His dark eyes settle on a group playing football. It's a group of about ten men and a few children, dashing around, tackling the ball and scoring goals. One small boy runs around after scoring, cheering loudly and punching his fist in the air.

Dave smiles.

**15****th**** June 2004**

'What the fuck was that?' laughed Dave, as Swill attempted to kick the football back towards him.

'My fucking sister could do better,' agreed Pete with a grin.

'You don't 'ave a fucking sister, you cunt,' Swill replied, flipping them the finger.

'I was talking about Steve.'

'Don't fuckin' let him hear you say that,' Bov warned, tackling the ball from Swill and kicking it at Pete. 'He'd kick the shit outta you.'

They were down in Regent's Park, having a kick around with a battered football. The sun was high in the sky, beaming down on the plush green grass.

'What? With a fucking baby bottle?' teased Pete, firing the ball towards Ned who was in goal. He missed it by inches. 'Oh, yes! Another goal to me!' the blonde grinned, running around with arms out-stretched.

'How is the baby?' Dave asked, tugging his T-shirt off and discarding it on the grass.

'Put your tits away!' Swill yelled. Dave made an obscene gesture back to him,

'Ah, the usual,' Pete said, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. 'Shits, cries and sleeps.'

'No first words?' Swill asked, with a frown.

'He's a month old, you tit.'

'What the fuck do I know? I'm not Supernanny.'

'Don't we fuckin' know it,' Bov smirked, toying with the ball under his foot. 'Move out the fuckin' way, I'm trying to take a shot.' He waited until the three had backed off a couple of inches, before firing the ball back to Ned.

The smaller man leapt, pulling the ball to his chest before hitting the floor. He picked himself up, volleying it to Keith, who managed a swift header to Ike.

'Oi! Oi! To me!' Swill yelled, waving his arms like a deranged pigeon. Ike rolled his eyes and grinned, but kicked it in his direction anyway.

**Now **

Dave sighs, recalling the memory of when things had been at least half normal. Before the Yank had arrived and everything had fallen on it's fucking head. After a moment, he glances down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, studying Swill's address with dark eyes. It had been over a year since he'd seen Swill, or any of the guys other than Ned and Keith for that matter. He moves off the bench and makes his descent on the winding path away from the hill and down into Regent's Park.

--

Dave stands outside the door, the glossy blue front looking newly painted, unable to knock for a moment. Instead, he stares at the rusted 33 that is hung on a clay plaque on the side, before he looks down at the mat beneath his feet. He lifts it up, but there is no key there. Instead, it's dirty and woodlice scurry away, trying to find damp darkness. Dave drops the mat down again. A long time ago, Swill would keep is key there for times when he was drunk and 'dying' on the floor, so all he had to do was reach out and find his key.

Finally, Dave forces himself to knock. He's been standing there for about a full five minutes already. He braces himself before rapping on the wood. It's quiet for a moment, before he hears a key turn in the lock and the door is pulled open.

Surprise echoes on both faces. Swill's blue eyes widened, mouth parting in shock for a moment, before he seems to seize up. His whole body goes tense and his eyes narrow and his expression goes cold. He's lost a lot of weight, light stubble lining his jaw. There's a scar across his left cheek; it still looks red and raw, even though it had been there a year now. Dave can't stop looking at him, remembering every detail of the fight in slow motion.

Swill looks Dave up and down in what is an expression of disgust and for a moment, Dave doesn't know what to say. Finally, Swill steps aside and lets him in. He leaves Dave in the front room, moving into the kitchen and returning with a beer. Swill cracks it open and takes a drink, eyes never leaving Dave's face. Dave is sat on the sofa, nervous. He casts a look around; nothing is how it used to be. It looks like he redecorated; wallpaper now lining the walls, laminated flooring and thick curtains.

He remembered when Swill had started to decorate and then get bored and left it half finished; some walls had been pink, other partly papered, another wall blue. There'd been a lick of green paint of the ceiling and mismatched furniture. It has all changed now.

Swill stands by the window, nursing the can of Fosters in one hand. Slowly, he turns to look at the older man. 'What do you want?' he asks, bluntly.

'I wanted to see how you were, son,' he replies, truthfully.

'Took your fuckin' time,' Swill mutters. 'It's been over a year since… you know.'

'I've been locked up, Swill.' It falls quiet, Swill still watching him closely. Then, he pulls an awkward face.

'Look, I 'ave things to do…' he trails off, hinting that there is nothing to do and that he just wants Dave out the house. The dark haired man nods, getting to his feet.

'It's been nice seeing you,' he offers, but Swill doesn't answer and is looking out the window again.

--

Dave sighs and collapsed into the armchair, running a hand through his dark hair. 'Did you see 'im?' questions Ned, a can of cola in one hand and a packet of crisps in the other. 'You're fuckin' lucky you even got to go inside.'

'He fucking 'ates me, son,' sighs Dave, shutting his eyes wearily.

'Nah, mate, these things take time,' Ned replies, before nudging Keith, who was sat next to him. Keith nods in agreement, before snatching the crisps and popping a few in his mouth.

'I just wanna put things right,' Dave says, looking back at the younger man. Ned frowns for a moment.

'It wasn't your fault in the first place.'

'Yeah,' Dave admits, though he can't help but feel responsible at the way things had turned out. 'I know.'

--

Sometimes, Dave misses the old Abbey so much, it makes his throat go tight and causes a sharp pain to jab in his chest. Ever since he'd first stepped first in there, years back in 1999, he'd loved the place. Dave holds so many memories of the place that whenever he thinks about the past, they overwhelm him.

He remembers Swill etching stick figures of the GSE into their table with a paperclip he'd stolen from work. He remembers going into the pub some lunchtimes and finding Pete there, dressed in a shirt and tie, drinking with the boys instead of doing the pile of marking that's stacked in front of him.

He remembers the time when Ned had joined a 'Rent a Grandparent for Christmas' cause, only to bring the wrong grandma back to the pub and get arrested for kidnapping. He'd only spent a night in jail, of course. The boys had come to his rescue and the cops believed it was a misunderstanding.

Dave goes into the pub. It still smells new, but over the past year, beer and piss have made their mark too. There's no sign that any tragedy had happened; the memory is only imprinted on the minds of those who were there and the ones who'd read the paper the next morning.

'Alright, mate?' smiles Terry from behind the bar. He rests against the smooth, almost perfect glossed wood of the bar, a towel hanging over his shoulder.

'How are you, son,' Dave grins in return, moving towards the bar. He stops beside a figure and looks up to see Steve Dunham.

He can see the twisted, scarred skin under his collar, but there is a soft smile on his face. Since Pete's death, Steve and Terry had been inseparable. Terry had spent months trying to get Steve out of the house when Shannon left. Steve had been an empty shell, had turned to drink and spent most of his time crying in Ben's room. Pete was never mentioned. Steve would seize up and his eyes would glaze over, fists clenched in anger.

'How's Red?' Steve asks. His voice is hoarse and strained. He'd had his vocal cords removed after Hatcher had stabbed him in the throat; the damage was irreversible.

'She's doin' great,' Dave smiles, tugging his wallet from his jeans. 'Carling, please, Terry.' Terry nods and moves to pour the drink. ''Ave you heard anything from Shannon?' Dave asks, almost hesitantly. A few months ago, Shannon had emailed Steve to tell him of Ben's progress; he'd be nearing three years old now. She'd said she'd email again, but they'd be nothing.

Steve falls silent, and then shakes his head. 'Nothing,' he says in that dry, rasping voice and takes the beer that Terry hands over the bar. Dave takes his and pushes the note over to Terry.

'Thanks, son.' At that moment, the doors open again, Ned and Keith entering the Abbey.

'I 'ave no idea what to do,' Ned is telling Keith, who just shakes his head with a shrug. The pub's lamp light makes the scar across Ned's cheekbone look a lot worse than it actually is; a brutal souvenir of prison time. They come across to the bar, a troubled look falling across his face when he sees Dave. 'I need some advice,' he says. Dave raised an eyebrow and sucks the froth from the top of his drink.

'What is it?'

'It's Lucy; she wants to get back with me.'

'That's great, son,' Dave smiles. 'Are you gonna?'

'I don't know,' he shrugs. 'She did ditch me when I was locked up. Then, she was all over me when I got out. Fucking birds are confusing.'

'Are we?' says a voice behind them. They turn to see Red smiling back at them. Her reddish-brown hair is falling over her shoulders in wavy locks, hazel eyes on Dave. Her grin widens and she giggles.

'Well, just a few of 'em,' Ned laughs. Red smiles, coming to wrap her arms around Dave's waist and he cups her face and kisses her nose.

'How'd it go anyway?' she asks, pulling away slightly. 'With Swill?' Everyone seems alert all of a sudden, wanting to hear the news. Dave frowns, shaking his head.

'Not that well, I'm afraid. He didn't want to talk.'

'There's still no sign of Bovver,' Keith puts in, voice low.

'What about Ike?' asks Red, glancing back at the others.

'He's… around,' Ned says slowly.

'Around?' Dave frowns. Ned sighs and nods.

'Last time we went to his place, Laura flipped out. She went totally fuckin' crazy, screaming and throwing things at us and saying how Ike could 'ave been killed and all that crap.'

'Shit,' Dave mutters, running a hand through his hair. 'He's still with her?'

'They're married now, mate,' Ned concludes. 'She doesn't want him to 'ave anything to do with us.'

'You can't fucking blame her,' Dave agrees. 'But, I ain't giving up,' he tells them.

--

Dave enters his home near midnight; the house is dark and Red is already asleep in bed. The red light on the answering machine informs him that there's a message waiting for him. Dave presses the button and shrugs out of his jacket.

You have ONE new message.

Message ONE.

_Dave, it's me, Swill. I er…. I can't talk, all right. I mean, I can't talk about the fucking mess that's…_ There's a growl of frustration from Swill's end. Dave has paused, looking right at the machine as if Swill wis really in the room. _I can't chat about how I'm feeling like you lot. I ain't angry at you, Dave. I'm angry at everyone. They can all just lead their lives and carry on like nothing fucking 'appened, but it did! Pete died and maybe it was my fault._

_Maybe it was all of our fault, y'know? We could 'ave fucking stopped 'im, but I was as eager for a fucking fight. I was wired, ready to take Tommy and his cunts. I was so excited and then… shit, it was fucked up .I could 'ave stopped it. Why didn't I move faster? I could 'ave got Hatcher off. I could 'ave! _

Swill's voice is thick, as if he's trying to hold back tears and Dave sinks onto the sofa, a slight frown creasing his brow.

_I got scared when you came. I didn't know what to say, you just turned up out the fucking blue. How could I explain this past year? Fuck. I stood and watched when the cops took you out the church at Pete's funeral. Maria was ready to kill, I swear. We'd grown up with 'er looking after us and now there was nothing she could do. You were all just going one by one._

Swill clears his throat.

_I ain't seen Bov in a while. I 'eard he's fucked up though. Drinking, fighting. Like he's trying to take the world on. _Swill lets out a small chuckle, but then sighs. _I went down the Abbey; ain't the same anymore. I can tell Terry fucking 'ates it. Ain't the same as it used to be. I can't say all this out loud. You gotta understand that. This is what I keep hidden deep in me, in me chest. Me heart, or somethin'. You was my best friend, Dave. But, it ain't the same anymore. Things 'ave changed._

There's a pause, then a shuffle and then the line goes dead. There are tears on Dave's cheeks and he dashes them away quickly.

But, more fall anyway.

--

**So, what did you think? Review and tell me!**


	3. I work here for the cakes

**Thank you so much for the reviews so far! I'll try and update as regularly as I can (I'm heading for Wednesday's and Sunday's) if I can write the chapters quick enough! **

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter two

I work here for the cakes

**1998**

'Ah, come on, you know you want to.'

'No, Simon, I really don't.'

'One date. One date, I swear! An' I won't even put my 'and up your skirt like last time,' said the young man at the counter of the fish and chip shop. He leaned up on his tiptoes, giving the puppy eyes to a girl trying to serve other customers.

He couldn't have been older than eighteen, hair a little longer than it should be; he was wearing blue jeans and an orange jumper- the latest nineties fashion. 'That was supposed to be your one date,' the girl replied, irritably. The man scowled, before rocking on the balls of his feet. 'Now, do you want something?'

'Large chips and a coke,' he replied miserably. Dave watched from where he was in the line as the woman served the man and then turned away. The man didn't move. She sighed and looked back.

'What now? Look, I'm trying to work.'

'Get the fuck out the way; I'm starving!' someone yelled. The man looked back at them, before turning and taking a seat at a booth. Dave hesitated; the man looked crestfallen about his date. Finally, he sighed and left the queue to sit opposite him.

'Dave Biano,' he said, thrusting out a hand. The man looked at it, then at his chips, then at Dave's face. Then, he shook his hand.

'Simon Wilkins,' he said, smiling, but there was a hesitant look in his blue eyes. Dave noticed that he was sat sideways on the edge of his seat, as if ready to bolt if need be. After a beat, Simon uttered out, 'I didn't know she was taken, I swear. An' I didn't mean to put my 'and up 'er skirt. I fell-'

'I don't know 'er, son,' Dave laughed at the bemused expression on Simon's face. 'Actually, I felt a bit bad. See, you gotta… show 'er she's special.'

Simon snorted. 'What are you? Matchmaker?'

'I'm jus' tryin' to 'elp. If you don't want it-' He went to leave the chair.

'No, wait,' Simon said quickly. 'What do I gotta do?' Dave smiled, sinking back into the chair.

'Don't see 'er when you're half-drunk and slurring. I can smell the beer from 'ere. Buy 'er something. Make it thoughtful, right?'

Simon blinked, watching him curiously for a moment. 'How you know all this shit?' he asked, a playful tone to his voice.

'My mum's been tellin' me all this since I hit puberty. Wants me to get me a good wife.' Dave pulled a face, shaking his head and Simon laughed.

'My mum just threw a pack of condoms at me and told me not to get any birds pregnant,' he grinned in reply. 'I best go buy 'er something before the shops close.'

'Nah, wait till you've sobered up, son,' Dave told him. Simon frowned and then nodded.

'Tomorrow, I will.' He paused, before looking sheepish. 'You don't mind coming, do you?' he asked. 'Jus', I can't do it myself. I don't know what the fuck girls like!' Dave laughed, before nodding.

'Alright. Where d'you want to meet?'

**Now**

Some things never change, Dave thinks wryly as he walks down the aisle of Co-Op to see Swill stacking shelves at the end. He's stacking cans of beans, not noticing Dave until he clears his throat. Then, Swill looks across at him. There's a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, but then the mask is pulled up and he just stares.

Swill has been working here forever. It was his first job when he was sixteen and he never really left, though he'd been fired a number of times. 'Still workin' in this old place?' Dave smiles, gesturing around. Swill doesn't even smile. The old Swill would have joked about being there for the cakes, but there's none of that now. It's all serious. 'I got your message,' Dave continues, the smile fading from his lips.

There's silence for a moment, before Swill replies, 'Good to know I didn't get the wrong number.'

Dave gives an irritated sigh. 'Look, can we just talk things over? It's fucking 'ard for me as well, y'know, but at least I'm trying.' Swill blinks and for a moment, Dave thinks he's going to say no. But, finally he gives a nod.

'I get my break in an hour. I'll meet you at Starbucks down the road.' Dave nods, offers a smile which isn't returned, turns and walks back out of Co-Op.

He's more nervous than he thinks he'd be as he sits on the chairs outside Starbucks. His stomach does a funny jolting feel when he catches sight of the familiar figure up ahead and gets to his feet as Swill approaches.

'You don't 'ave to get up; I'm not a bird,' Swill mutters, pulling out a chair opposite Dave and slumping down. He looks tired and Dave wonders if he got any sleep last night.

'Can I get you anything?' A waitress has come over and is holding a notepad, a bored expression on her face.

'Cappuccino, please,' Dave replies.

'Same,' mumbles Swill. Dave reaches for his wallet to pay out of habit, but Swill straightens up.

'I'll pay; I don't need your money,' he snaps. Dave frowns and puts his hands on the table. Swill shoves a fiver at the waitress and she takes it and turns away to get their drinks. The sour look stays on Swill's face. Dave can't get over the difference from whom he used to know and who was sat in front of him now. Where had the old Swill gone? He was still the old Dave, right? He didn't think he had changed, but with Swill… it was almost scary. He is unpredictable, the dark colour in his eyes making Dave want to run. But, he stays where he is because he hasn't got this far for nothing.

'There's a new GSE,' Swill blurts out. Dave blinks in surprise.

'Really?'

'Yeah; they go by a different name. Bov went to sort 'em out when they tried to use the 'GSE'. They call themselves the ICF.'

'The ICF?' Dave questions.

'Inter-City Firm,' Swill says, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Dave laughs, half in humour, half desperate to lighten the mood.

'I ain't seen them down the Abbey,' Dave says.

'Different pub,' Swill replies, with a shrug as if that was obvious. The quiet falls over them once more. Dave notices that happens a lot. They used to 'ave so much to talk about that they'd forget the main subject of the conversation and now the silence washed over them like waves in a bitter sea.

'What did you want to talk about?' Swill breaks the silence as the waitress returns with the coffees. She sets them down and leaves without a word. Dave picks his cup up between calloused hands, blowing the top lightly.

'Everythin',' Dave admits quietly, before his eyes meet Swill's questioning gaze. 'You didn't get banged up?'

'Nah,' Swill says. 'There was too many of us. Lots of the cunts got away. Where'd you get sent?'

'Down near West London with Keith and Ned. Hatcher's boy Mark was there too.' Swill winced.

'Get rough?'

'You ain't seen Ned in a while, 'ave you?' Swill shook his head and Dave made a gesture across his face. 'Right across 'is cheek. Got 'im while 'e was taking a piss.'

'Knifed?' exclaims Swill, eyes a little wider than before.

'Yeah. Scarred now.' He watches as Swill raises his hand and touches the scar on his own cheek. His own battlescar from the fight. 'Did it 'urt?' Dave asks, nodding a hand towards Swill. He nods.

'Like a fucking bitch. Got sympathy dates from the nurses though,' he adds and for once there is a twinkle of humour in his eyes. Dave grins.

'You got anyone now?' he asks. Swill shakes his head.

'No, I ain't really been out much. How's Red?'

'She's good, son. She was asking about you.'

'Really?' Swill asks, seeming to light up a bit. She'd always been a big sister to Swill, keeping him in line. Dave nods with a smile. Swill lifts his cup and takes a drink. Dave notices the slight twist of his face and Swill fights the urge to spit it out.

'Why'd you order it?' Dave asks, knowing full well that Swill didn't like coffee, even though he drank it often enough to cure hangovers. Swill shrugs.

'I just said the first word that came to mind.' Dave smiles and drinks his coffee. Swill takes a look at his watch and then jumps to his feet. 'Fuck. I'm late,' he mutters, draining his cup as fast as he can; it dribbles down his chin and he wipes it off with the back of his hand. Dave watches in amusement. Swill pauses and looks back at him. 'Thanks. For seeing me,' he says with a small, hesitant smile which Dave returns.

--

Bov stands on the bridge, staring out at the dark waters of the Thames below. He watches the ripples crash against the dark walls at the sides and his breath is foggy in the night in front of him. He takes a slow drag of his cigarette and exhales the cloud of smoke through his nose.

Word is that Dave's asking around for him and the rest of the guys.

Bov pulls a face and flicks the butt of the cigarette into the water. He watches the lit end get smaller, before he disappears into the night.

--

**I'll be spurred on by more reviews :D What did y'all think?**


	4. Seeing Red

**Thank you so much for the reviews so far :D And, I promise there will be more of Bov, though it might take a few just to really get to him (Don't worry, there's a Bov piece in the next chapter :D ) I hope you're enjoying the new style I'm using - I'm not fond of using present tense, but needed to make it distinctly different to the past tense flash back scenes. So, here's a other chapter for y'all!**

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter three

Seeing Red

Ike sits on the sofa, his arm around Laura, who is snuggled into his side. Die Hard 4.0 is on the TV, but Ike's mind is elsewhere. Ned had dropped by the factory earlier, saying how Dave is eager to meet. And surely, it won't hurt, will it? Ike sighs, running a hand over his face, before shifting to look at Laura. 'Would it be so bad to go an' see Dave?' he asks, caution in his tone. Laura's eyes flash angrily.

'No! You think I want you going back to them after what happened? You could 'ave been killed.'

'Not with the firm. We ain't gonna be fighting again,' Ike says hastily. Laura gets to her feet, fists clenched at her sides as she narrows her eyes at him. She's crying.

'Ike, don't go,' she says, voice breaking a little. 'I'm so thankful to 'ave you and if something 'appens… I was scared. I was so scared that day you left, even though I pretended everything was normal and it was just another match.' Laura runs a hand through her blonde hair and Ike gets to his feet, pulling her against his chest. 'I don't want that to 'appen again.'

Ike kisses the top of her head. 'I ain't going anywhere.'

--

'I 'ave five minutes,' Ike says to Dave and Ned, standing outside the back doors of the printing factory he works at, a polystyrene cup of coffee in his hands. 'An' no tellin' Laura. She'll kill me.'

'She really was against you meeting us, wasn't she?' Dave asks. Ike gives a nod, blowing the top of the hot liquid.

'She thinks we gonna reform or something. She don't want me fighting again.'

'Who would? I mean, after what 'appened,' Ned interjects. 'My mum flipped when she found out about it all. Almost missed getting banged up 'cause she wanted to put me in an early grave.'

'How are you, son?' Dave asks, his eyes roving over Ike's face. Ike shrugs.

'Half there. Got a job at this place,' he says, gesturing around. 'Printing factory.'

'What do you print?' Ned asks.

'Leaflets, posters, Christmas cards. Whatever order comes in, we make,' he replies.

'And Laura?'

'Ah, she's alright. Her Gran died a couple of weeks back, so she's been a bit emotional.' Ike then gives a smile. 'I 'eard you've been asking around for Bov?' Dave laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

'I'm curious, yes. Where the fuck did 'e go after the funeral?' Dave remembers the day like it was yesterday; the people, the tears, the coffin… Ike shrugs.

'I don't know where he went, but best time to see 'im is Saturday nights. He's usually drunk and trying to fight.'

'He still tries to fight?' Ned asks with a laugh. Ike nods, but isn't smiling.

'He doesn't care anymore. He doesn't give a fuck.'

Dave sighs, running a hand over his face. 'Now, why doesn't that surprise me?' Ike nods towards Ned's face.

'What 'appened?'

'Mark's boys got me,' Ned replies grimly. His scar runs across his right cheek, going down from his cheekbone.

'He didn't get sympathy dates from the nurses like Swill did,' Dave grins, punching Ned's shoulder lightly. Ned laughs, shaking his head.

'Fuck did I! All I got was some fat prison bird with tattoos and piercings.' He shudders delicately. 'It was like Christmas one time at my Auntie Mel's. Now that was fucking scary…'

**5****th**** March 2004**

The music was loud in the club, the base beating and strobe lights flashing. On a table in the corner, Swill was stood, a Happy Birthday banner pinned to the wall above him. There was a party hat on his head and a beer in his hand. 'Well, I would like to thank all you twats for coming to my party,' he said, swaying a little. 'An' for letting me 'ave it in a club with plenty of fit birds.' He raised his glass and winked to a couple of women stood at the bar.

They wrinkled their noses and turned away, disinterested. Swill shrugged, unfazed, before cheering, 'To being twenty-four!'

'To being twenty- four!' the lads chorused back, chinking glasses and downing their pints, beer sloshing down their chins and shirts. Dave laughed as the music changed to Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ and Swill stumbled towards the dance floor.

'What the fuck is 'e doing?' Bov asked, watching as Swill started to dance.

'He knows the routine. He learnt it as a kid,' Dave laughed.

'Looks like he's got fucking epilepsy,' Pete laughed, before chucking a tenner to Dave. 'Carling, please.' Dave rolled his eyes good-naturedly and got to his feet, moving towards the bar and making his way past Swill, who was singing at the top of his voice, jerking his hips as part of the dance routine. Pete was right. He did look like he was having some sort of fit. Dave got to the bar, standing beside a pretty redhead.

It took him a moment to realize she looked upset and he frowned. 'You alright, love?' he asked. The woman looked up, gave a sniff and braved a smile.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' she said, but it was obvious she didn't look it.

'Can I get you a drink?' he asked.

'Please,' she smiled. 'I'm Michelle. But, everyone calls me Red because I've got ginger hair.' Dave gave a smile.

'Yeah, I can see why. I'm Dave,' he grinned, before waving at the bartender. He came over, raising an eyebrow. 'Two pints of Carling and whatever this pretty lady wants.' Red blushed, giving a shy smile.

'A vodka and coke, please,' she answered, before turning to Dave.

'Now, you gonna tell me why you look so upset?' he asked, with a friendly smile. Red bit her bottom lip, before rolling her eyes.

'It's pathetic really. I got stood up,' she said, looking sad again.

'Who was he?'

'Just this guy I met a couple of weeks ago. He never returned any of my calls, so I don't know why I hoped he'd even turn up now,' Red sighed as the bartender returned with the drinks. She picked hers up, stirring the straw around the glass before looking up at the dancing crowd. She suddenly giggled. 'Look at that man,' she laughed.

Dave looked, knowing exactly who she meant; Swill was doing his finale of the Thriller dance, which meant attempting to break dance. He always said he'd wanted to put his own spin on it. Dave covered his face and groaned. 'That would be my mate, Swill. It's his birthday.'

'Sorry, I shouldn't laugh,' Red grinned, covering her mouth to try and stifle her laughter. Dave laughed and then they were both laughing. After a moment, they were able to pull themselves together and Dave took a gulp of his pint as Pete came over.

'Come on, mate, I'm thirsty,' he said, before noticing Red, a knowing look crossing his face. 'Ah, didn't know you was busy.'

Dave rolled his eyes. 'Red, meet Pete. Pete, this is Red.'

'Nice to meet you,' Pete grinned, shaking her hand. 'He ain't bothering you, is he?' he teased. Red blushed and laughed.

'Nah, he ain't. I actually quite like his company,' she smiled over at Dave, who ducked his head and grinned shyly back.

'Well, why don't you bring your friend back to the table where we can celebrate Swill being alive for a whole twenty four years?' Pete asked. Dave nodded, and then looked at Red.

'You want to?' he asked. Red nodded, eyes on Dave.

'Sure. I want to see if your friends are as cute as you.'

'Don't count on it,' laughed Pete as he led the way.

**Now**

A scream from downstairs jerks Dave from his nap and he darts off the bed and races downstairs. He stumbles into the kitchen to find Red standing by the sink, his spanner in her hand and water spraying everywhere from the broken tap.

'Help, Dave. Help!' Red squeals, trying to stop the water from hitting her and failing miserably. The water is hitting everywhere; the walls, the floor, Dave and Red, with no mercy. Dave blinks against the water as it splashes him in the face, reaching to try and snag the tap. After a struggle, Dave manages to stop the flow of water from flooding the entire kitchen and he looks at Red.

She's dripping wet, auburn hair sticking to her face and she gives a nervous giggle. 'I told you I'd try to fix it if you didn't,' she reminds him.

Dave laughs, coming forward to kiss her. Red blindly reaches for the table as he pushes her back, before lifting to set her on top. Her legs encircle his waist as she deepens the kiss, hands running through his dark, wet hair and leaving it spiked.

Water drips down the walls.

He runs his tongue across her bottom lip. '_Dave…_' she sighs, pressing into him.

--

**Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review! **


	5. Cover my Eyes

**First of all, I have to say a big thank you for my reviews so far. This chapter is dedicated to kika-sama for the awesome reviews and for liking Bov just as much as I do! Keep the reviews coming, because I really am enjoying writing this for you guys! Also, I might be able to upload the next chapter until Thursday, as I have a perfomance on Wednesday night at Sixth Form, but if I can upload it before then, I shall! **

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter four

Cover my Eyes

_"And kids who like to scrap with pool cues in their hands."_ – Artic Monkeys 'A certain romance'

Bov sits in the pub, nursing a beer between his hands, a bitter expression on his face. He's lost count of how many drinks he's had or how many pubs he's been in tonight alone. All he's focused on is the voices on the table behind him.

He's glad he's found them.

It's a group of six young men, all who still live with their mums. They wear baseball caps and tracksuit bottoms tucked into their sports socks. And together, they form the new West Ham firm.

'We can do this, lads. It can't be that 'ard. It's just Tottenham.' Bov scoffs, shaking his head and downing the rest of his pint. He sets the glass down hard on the wooden tabletop and gets to his feet. He turns to face the other table, opening his mouth to tell them what he really thinks of their little fucking firm, when one of the boys gives a grin.

'We'll do it in a way that would make Pete Dunham proud.' Bov falters, stopping short of the table, his steel blue gaze roving over them. He doesn't realize until now that the simple utter of Pete's name will still make him feel sick. He doesn't realize until now that his stomach will still squirm uneasily and his chest will tighten until he can't breathe. His best friend is dead. Because of him? Yeah, because if he hadn't been so fucking jealous back then, none of this would have happened. If he hadn't gone over to see Hatcher that night…

Bov takes a deep drag of his cigarette before he turns and stalks away.

**2005**

Where the Abbey used to stand was rubble and blackened, charred window frames and tables and chairs, the remains of the beloved pub now grey ashes and smouldering ghosts. Smoke still rose, fogging the air and Terry stood in the middle, his shoulders slumped. 'This was my 'ome,' he said quietly. Pete and Dave stood close by on piles of black. They exchanged looks, but before they could give Terry any comfort, he wandered through the rubble to see if he could savour anything.

'You sure about tomorrow, son?' Dave asked, rubbing his hands together; it was dark, the night cold. Pete gave a firm nod.

'I 'ave to. I can't let this drop. He stabbed my brother.'

Dave nodded, understandingly. Of course Pete would want to fight back against Hatcher, but at what price? He sneaked a look up at Pete, who was staring at a charred chair on its side. His stomach flipped nervously at the thought of the fight tomorrow. Dave didn't even want to think about what would happen when they got there.

This wasn't just a fight. This wasn't just about humiliating each other. This was about bringing Hatcher's firm down and for good.

This could be a matter of life and death. Dave wasn't stupid.

'I need to do this,' Pete said, as if he'd been listening to Dave's thoughts. He turned, picking up a brass beer mug, Dave watching as he turned it in his hands. It was quiet for a moment, Terry moving behind what was left of the burnt bar and running his hands over the charred wood.

'What about Bov?' Dave asked, stepping over debris to kick a few rocks at his feet. Pete frowned, his face hardened for a moment. But, he stayed quiet, not wanting to speak about the best friend who betrayed him. 'And the Yank?'

'Matt goes with Shannon to America tomorrow,' Pete replied.

'Does Steve know she's leaving?' Dave asked, a frown furrowing his brow. Pete nodded, rubbing his eyes, looking suddenly very tired and pale amongst the blackened frame of the pub.

'She went to the hospital and told him she was leaving. Taking Ben.' He looked across at Dave. 'Now, go 'ome, mate. Get some rest.'

Dave nodded, before picking his way out the wreckage.

**Now**

Swill stands outside the new Abbey and looks it over, knowing he doesn't like it because it isn't the old Abbey. It isn't the old Abbey with its paint peeling windows and scratched wooden tabletops and it doesn't have their corner any more. The layout is similar inside, but not the same.

Never the same.

Even the lads inside aren't the same. The faces of the best friends he ever had have changed. They look at him with a mix of surprise and caution. The scar on Ned's cheek looks worse in the light of the pub. Keith glances at Swill and then back down at his pint. It's only Dave who gives him a reassuring smile and gestures for him to come over to the bar.

It's awkward. Swill can feel the tension rising as they check each other out, like dogs or wolves. They are the pack now and he is the lone one. And he just wants to be accepted again.

Swill just isn't sure how.

'Pint?' Steve pipes up; his voice was rough, husky and it surprises Swill. He quickly nods and Steve orders a pint for him. He takes it in one hand and looks into the depths, the white foam of the head beckoning him. Then, he looks up and stares right at Ned, eyeing up the scar almost identical to his.

'You ain't trying to form again, are you?' Swill asks, finally pulling his gaze from Ned to look at Dave. Dave shakes his head.

'We were friends outside of the GSE, son,' he replies. 'I just want to see everyone.' It's quiet for a moment, before Steve clears his throat. He looks thoughtful for a minute.

'I think you should go and see me mum.'

--

Maria looks older than she's ever been. Whenever Dave thinks of her, he always has the woman full of life with blonde hair and bright blue eyes in his mind. The image he's grown up with. But, the woman at the door is not this image of happiness that he normally thinks of.

Her hair is around her shoulders, now streaked with grey and her eyes don't hold that same sparkle. She wears a cardigan and she's huddled into it. Her lips are down-turned at the corners and there are bags under her eyes. She steps aside to let Dave and Steve in, shutting the door behind her.

Dave walks down the hallway that's lined with pictures; Pete and Steve as young children, splashing in small swimming trunks in the paddling pool in the back garden; Pete dressed up as a Shepard for the school play; little Ben, hours old, nestling in the arms of his father. There's even a picture of the GSE in the early days, the guys stood together in Maria's garage, raising their beers and grinning at the camera; their first match and their first win.

They get to the living room and Maria sits down on the armchair, while Dave and Steve take the sofa. Dave offers her a smile. 'How've you been?' he asks. Stupid question, really.

'Getting there,' she replies with a weak laugh, combing her fingers through her hair. 'I heard you just got out the nick.'

'Yeah,' Dave nods.

'How are the boys?'

'Getting their lives together,' Dave replies. 'It's been a hard year.'

'You're telling me,' she sighs, before looking across at her eldest son. 'Ave you 'eard anything from…?' She can never bear to say Shannon's name, not since she deserted the family.

'Nah, I ain't 'eard anything,' Steve says and an upset expression flickers across Maria's face.

'I lost a son and a grandson that day,' she tells them, chin trembling slightly, but she manages to hold it together. 'How could any mother take their son away from their father? Their families? He was my grandson. Steve's little boy. She's a selfish bitch.' Her words are scolding and her fists clench on her lap, looking down at her knees after her outburst. Maria sniffs. 'Sorry, but I'm only saying what's true.'

'I know, mum,' Steve replies, reaching over to touch her hand. Maria squeezes it and braves a small smile. 'How's that missus of yours?' she asks.

'Red's doing good. She's 'olding me down at least. She kept everything going when I was locked away; house, bills, the car.'

'She's a good 'un,' Maria agrees. 'She came round a few times to see me. Ah, we chatted about this and that and her job. She kept me happy, y'know.' Dave smiles, before Maria gets to her feet. She goes to the fireplace and takes a photo off the mantelpiece. She looks at it for a moment, before turning and sitting back in the armchair. 'This is me favourite photo of them,' she smiles, handing it over.

Dave takes the photo, smiling as his eyes roam over the beaming faces of Steve and Pete; Steve must have been fourteen, Pete a little younger, both in West Ham gear. 'They were always so competitive,' Maria says, but her eyes are distant as she stares out the window at the grey London sky. 'But, they were so similar. They just loved football the both of them.' She chuckles and looks at Steve. 'Do you remember those football cards you used to get? Y'know, the playing cards?'

'Yeah,' Steve replies, his own grin spreading.

'They used to play with their West Ham ones for hours. They spent all their pocket money collecting them,' she tells Dave. 'I think I still…' she trails off, getting to her feet and leaving the room. Steve stands up to set the photograph back on the mantelpiece and he sits back down beside Dave just as Maria returns. In her hands are red cards, a stack of them kept together with an elastic band.

'I kept 'em years after you stopped playing with 'em,' Maria says, handing the cards to Steve. 'Maybe Ben can find some use for 'em when he gets back,' she says, maybe a little too optimistic for Steve's liking, but he takes them anyway and gives a smile.

Maria reaches out and takes Dave's hand, giving it a squeeze. She meets his gaze with blue eyes that have more life in them then they did before.

'Thank you for coming to see me,' she says. 'It's been 'ard.'

**1****st**** June 1988**

'Happy birthday, David!' grinned Dave's mother, Annie, setting the birthday cake on the table. She was beaming, eyes bright with excitement as she waited to see what he thought. The words _13 today! _Were swirled in red icing on the front, along with the West Ham crest. Candles circled the edge of the cake, burning and flickering.

'Thanks, mum,' he grinned, his granddad placing a hand on his shoulder.

'Make a wish,' he said, in his gravelly voice, a smile on his aged lips. Dave smiled, shutting his eyes.

_I wish my dad would come home._

Opening his eyes, Dave blew out the candles. Suddenly, there was a crash as Annie stumbled over a chair. 'Mum? Are you all right?' he asked, shifting forward. He knelt to help her up, but that's when he smelt it; the alcohol on her breath. She gazed at him, almost unfocused for a moment, before using his shoulder to lever herself to her feet.

'I'm fine,' she said with a giggle. She seemed to sway slightly.

'Dave, go to your room,' his granddad said, voice low.

'But, it's my birthday,' he protested weakly. But, granddad pushed him towards the door and with shoulders sagged, Dave headed for the stairs. The shouting had started even before he'd reached the top and with a suddenly burst of anger, Dave slammed the door of his bedroom shut and flopped onto the bed.

'…It's his birthday, Annie! Couldn't you 'ave waited before you got pissed?'

'Leave me alone, dad. It's my fuckin' life.'

'And you're messing it up! Frank is long gone and I doubt he's just gonna stroll back in.'

'Shut up! He's my husband. He loves me!'

'Loves you? If he loved you, he wouldn't have walked out when Dave was five.' There was a scream and a shattering of glass. Dave grabbed his pillow and covered his face with it.

Later that night, when granddad had gone out, the door to his bedroom opened and Annie peered in. 'Dave?' He looked up from the comic he was reading, eyeing her warily.

'Are you still drunk?' he asked, sitting up on his elbows. Annie bit her bottom lip and shook her head. Moving over, she sat down and brushed his bangs from his forehead.

'I'm sorry, Dave,' she sighed, looking down at her hands twisting nervously on her lap. 'It was selfish of me. It was your birthday and I ruined it.'

'No, you didn't,' he shrugged, sitting up. 'There's always next year,' he joked. Annie laughed, looking back at her son.

'I didn't give you your present,' she said, pulling something out of her pocket. He took them when she handed them to him and his eyes widened in surprise.

'Mum, these cost a fortune.'

'It's your birthday,' she shrugged; one ticket was for a West Ham match, the other a receipt for a year's flying lessons. He grinned and she laughed when he hugged her.

This was better than the false wish he'd requested.

--

**Remember, reviews make me a very happy person indeed! Even if you hated it, review because it will help me with my writing, knowing what you'd perfer! Any ideas, thoughts and opinions on the fic then REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW! **


	6. Thomas Ripley

**Hello! I decided to update a day early as I won't be here tomorrow, so here you go now. Warning: UH DEPRESSION! Especially at the end, so I apologise to y'all for doing that. THANK YOU for the reviews, because they make me happy :D And I hope you like this chapter. Because it was hard to write xD **

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter five

Thomas Ripley

**29****th**** August 2005**

Dave sighed, looking down at his hands as Red spoke. 'Please don't go,' she pleaded. 'I don't want you to get hurt. What if something happens, eh? What if someone's killed?'

'It won't come to that,' he replied, voice low as he looked up. 'I 'ave to do this.'

'You can stay 'ere with me.'

'I 'ave to be there. This isn't just about the firms anymore, Red.' He sighed, coming forward to pull her into his chest. His hand rested on the small of her back and he kissed the top of her head. 'This is personal.'

'It is for Pete. It was his brother that was stabbed.'

'You don't understand.'

Red sniffed, pulling away with tears in her eyes. 'If anything happens to you… any of you…' she trailed off, wiping her eyes. Reaching out, she squeezed his hand. 'Come back to me, Dave. I mean it.'

'I will.' He stepped forward to catch her lips in a desperate kiss, before moving away and out the door.

Towards the final fight.

**Now**

'Oi, you ain't gonna fucking believe this,' Terry says as Dave enters the bar with Ned and Keith the next afternoon. He reaches under the bar and pulls out a book, slapping it heavily on the table. Dave frowns and steps closer to have a look. Then, his eyes widen in disbelief.

'What the fuck?' he mutters.

'_Blunt: An inside look on West Ham's Hooligans_.' Ned reads out. '_By Matthew Buckner_.' He looks up, half smiling, half unable to believe it. 'Is this real?'

'Yeah,' Terry says darkly, flipping open the book to the index. 'He's got us all under different names,' he says, before tapping one of them. 'Thomas Ripley,' he says, looking at Dave.

'What?' he frowns, looking at the page number and flipping the book to the right section. He begins to read.

_Thomas Ripley wasn't the oldest member of the Green Street Elite, but he was by far the most mature. While being eager for a good fight, he kept the others in line- especially Joe Boston, who was easily excited. I often imagined Joe as a puppy; curious, boisterous and inquisitive, while regularly looking at Thomas for guidance. Thomas held down a responsible job; he was a flight lieutenant in the RAF and had everything going for him, so I often wondered why he fought._

_What did it gain? Well, other than a reputation and a few bruises. To me, it made no sense until I joined the firm myself. Back then, I never even thought of writing a book about my time there, about Pete Dunham, about the lads that formed the GSE. I merely kept a journal, as I had my entire life, keeping track of everything we did, every match we went to and every fight we were in. It became some sort of addiction; I needed the thrill. I needed to be punched, to feel that spark of white pain because it made me feel real. I wanted to see how far I could push myself before I actually broke._

_That was when I realized why Thomas did it. Having the good lifestyle just wasn't enough. He needed to feel that thrill._

Dave looks up, a slight frown on his face. 'An' I'm guessing Swill is Joe Boston?' he asks. Terry nods.

'I'm Paul Smith,' he says. Dave looks back down at the book, before picking it up.

'Can I borrow this?'

--

Dave sits at home, browsing the Internet on his computer. He takes a gulp of coffee, before typing Matt's name into Google. He clicks one link, which takes him to pieces of the Yank's work; a paper that he wrote years back. Dave remembers Ned mentioning it at one point, but it's a vague memory now.

_DEATH IN A PARIS TUNNEL: THE NEW ROLE OF JOURNALISM IN THE PAPARAZZI ERA_ Dave reads. _A thesis presented by Matthew Buckner._ Another link leads to a biography of Matt; _After going back to graduate from Harvard, Cambridge, Matt went on to publish several papers, the most popular being his work on Princess Diana and also "Media Influence; how journalist has changed". He now lives in New York, working on his book "Blunt: An inside look on West Ham's Hooligans" from his time in London with notorious football firms. _

The front door opens as Red comes in from work and she enters the front room, shrugging out of her jacket. She slings it over the chair, running her hand through her hair and pulling it into a loose ponytail. 'Hey, babe,' she greets, coming forward to kiss his cheek.

Dave's searching Matt Buckner on Facebook now. Red frowns. 'What're you doing?' she asks, curiously.

'Can you set me up an account on this?' he asks. Red nods, taking the mouse and clicking for a new account. 'Under the name Thomas Ripley,' he adds, after a moment.

Red's brow creases in a frown. 'Why?' she asks. Dave pats the book beside him and Red looks down at him. 'Oh,' she says, recognizing Matt's face on the front. 'Oh. He wrote this?'

'Yeah, just come out,' he replies. 'He's changed our names and I'm Thomas Ripley. I think he'll know who I am.' Red nods, before stepping back.

'There's the account,' she says, before picking up the book. 'I'm going read about what he thought of you,' she says with a light laugh, moving to put the lamp on and curling up in the armchair. Dave goes back to the screen, finding Matt's account. He looks at the picture of Matt holding his book, grinning with a thumbs-up at the camera. _Award winning journalist_. And with a deep breath, he clicks 'Add as friend.'

It takes days for him to accept, but finally, one Tuesday afternoon, Dave comes home with an email telling him that Matt Buckner had accepted his request. Dave feels nervous as he logs onto Facebook, going to Matt's profile. Now, he can see posts and statuses and pictures and videos. He doesn't look at any of these yet.

Instead, he sends Matt a message, simply saying _I think we need to talk_.

--

'Dave. Dave, there's an email!' Red squeals the next morning, bounding into the bedroom, holding her laptop. She's wearing a vest top and shorts and she jumps onto the bed, brushing her auburn locks over her shoulder and pushing the laptop at him. Dave groans, sitting up on his elbows and rubbing his eyes. He glances at the clock; it's eight in the morning, which is way too early on his day off. 'You've got an email from Matt!'

Dave sits up fully now, taking the laptop. On the page is an email from Matt and he reads, Red watching him eagerly.

_Dave,_

_I'm not sure whether I was expecting this or not. I realized after the book was published in the UK that it was more than likely one of you guys would see the book. I'm partly glad that it was you. Of course, you understand that I had to use different names, though I also have a feeling that you are less than pleased that I wrote the book in the first place. I need you to know that I never meant to go behind your backs and do this._

_I never intended to write this book when I was with you. I wasn't a journalist then. It was only months after I returned home to America that I could make use of this. That I could make people understand that you weren't all drunken oafs. I was trying to do you a favour. _

_I know some of you might be offended, especially when I write so personally about you and the firm. I never meant to hurt any body and I am still deeply sad at Pete's passing. He will be missed._

_I hope you are well,_

_Regards,_

_M. Buckner._

Dave sits back after reading it, the words still processing for a moment before Red shifts. 'Well, are you gonna reply?' she asks keenly.

'It's so fucking formal,' Dave mutters, in slight disgust at how easy Matt could write these words. Did it mean nothing to him? Dave pauses for a moment, thinking about what he could say in return, before clicking reply and beginning to type.

_Matt,_

_Some things are supposed to be kept private. Though, you being a journalist would not know that. Your job is to destroy people's privacy. Because it's what you do. So, no, I was not surprised to see you'd written a book._

_Remember the first time we met and you and Pete spun that bullshit about being the Karate Kid? I believed you. I was drunk and eager for the match and happy to accept you whether you were a Yank or not. And I believed you when you said you liked being in our company, because we were the best friends you'd ever had- you were always in awe about how close we all were. Like brothers._

_And I believed you when you told me you weren't a journalist. When you sat there on the floor after Bov head-butted you and you promised you weren't. I believed you then._

_So, you know the hurt I feel now when I read about what an award-winning journalist you are and how much of a hit your new book is. Because you betrayed us._

_I also realized how busy you must be with your award-winning lifestyle, so I'm going to save you the trip and come out to America to see you instead _:)

_Later, son,_

_D. Biano._

'Ooh, you bitch,' Red laughs, shoving him lightly as Dave clicks send. Then, she clambers off the bed and moves towards the door. 'I'll start breakfast.'

There's an email waiting for him when Dave returns after breakfast and he thinks his food is going to come back up because he's so nervous. He opens the email up and Matt's words aren't so formal now.

_Dave,_

_I really don't think that's a good idea. I've got a very busy schedule and Shannon has her hands full with Ben._

_Matt._

_Matt_, Dave replies straight away.

_I'm coming whether you like it or not. So, give me an address. If you don't, I'll have to call Maria Dunham to get your dad's number. And I'm sure he'll be happy to tell me where his award-winning son is._

_Dave._

He sends the email. 'Red,' he calls. 'Where can I get last minute plane tickets to America?'

--

The sky outside the plane window is a pinky yellow, the plane soaring over clouds and the setting sun blinding. It's beautiful, Dave thinks. They are somewhere over the ocean, stretching dark blue waters beneath them.

Steve is asleep next to him, mouth parted slightly. He'd demanded to come as soon as he heard about Dave trip to see the Buckner's. Dave looks back down at the book parted on his lap. Matt's book. He's already read the introduction; Matt spilling bullshit about how he was affected and on how he wishes he'd stayed in touch with the firm.

Utter crap, Dave thinks. He's had every chance to keep in touch with them. They all know that.

Dave has opened the book on a random page and is met with Pete's name. He reads on.

_Pete Dunham surprised me regularly. When I first met him, stood in my sister's kitchen, he'd come in cracking jokes and being rowdy and obnoxious and I didn't think I'd become as close to him as I had. In fact, I'd hated the moment when Shannon's husband (and Pete's brother, Daniel) said that I would have to go to a soccer match with him. I'd much rather have gone some place else, but I went along with them any way. Pete turned out to be much nicer than I thought; he was protective of his friends or 'his boys' as he called them. At the pub, he made sure they all had drinks and at the match, he made sure they could see properly. _

_Another time, when Pete told me he was a teacher, I was ready to laugh in his face. I could never have imagined someone, a hooligan at that, ever being responsible for children. But, he taught history and P.E and he was a good teacher at that. He was full of energy and always grinning, which made the students like him immensely. _

_Everyone liked Pete immensely._

Dave shuts the book. He can't read any more. His throat his clogged up and he takes a deep breath; it wouldn't help to break down now. He has to hold it together. Dave shuts his eyes and attempts to get some shut-eye before they land.

**29****th**** August 2005**

_You should 'ave protected him mate. He was your son!_

It wasn't slow motion, like Dave imagined it would be. When people tell stories of tragic events, they always say how it was slow motion, every detail etched into their mind. But, for Dave, everything was blurred. Sometimes, he'd panic because he'd forget what Pete's face looked like, or somehow Shannon was replaced with Red and Bov wasn't there to save her.

Hatcher was just punching him, punching him, over and over and the fighting stopped and everyone just watched. Unable to do anything, eyes wide because they knew already that it was too late. Pete wasn't moving. His eyes were shut and there was blood over his face and he wasn't moving.

And then Dave finally pushed his way through the crowd and charged forward and Ned followed and they grabbed Hatcher's arms and yanked. Swill appeared out of nowhere, blood dripping down his face from the slash across his cheek and grabbed Tommy around the neck and together, they managed to pull him off.

But, it was too late. Bov raced over and fell to his knees at Pete's side, yelling for an ambulance, for help, for anything. And Dave just watched on in disbelief because Pete Dunham couldn't be dead.

Terry and Ike clung to each other, held each other up in fear of collapsing. Silence spread through the group, because there was nothing to do or say.

Nothing could bring Pete Dunham back and it was at that moment when their lives changed forever.

--

**:'( I'm sorry! But, the flashback had to be done. Review? **


	7. New York! New York!

**You guys almost didn't get this chapter xD My laptop/floppy disk decided to have a technical break-down where it wouldn't work or let me upload or anything. I almost had a break-down myself. So y'all luck you have this! And because I'm stressed with my laptop, I haven't read this through, so all mistakes are mine. This chapter is dedicated to my dear Hari! ILYBB :D And, I've planned out all the chapters and there's only going to be ten. Sorry for that guys! **

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter Six

New York! New York!

The streets of New York are busy; taxis beep, cars roaring and weaving down roads, people walking and bustling and milling about. Tramps lined the sidewalks with their dogs and their cans of beans and their scratchy blankets.

Steve and Dave sit in the back of a cab, the driver taking his biker gloved hands against the side of the cab, the music playing quietly in the front. Rosary beads hang from the mirror. Steve is pale and his fist is clenched at his side, the other gripping the inside handle of the door until his knuckles are white. 'You nervous?' Dave asks. Steve looks across at him.

'I jus' want to see me son,' he replies in a quiet voice. Seeing Ben is all he can think about; will the young boy still know who his dad was? Has Shannon got a new bloke or is she still alone? He hopes she is. He doesn't want her being happy. Not after what she's done.

It was another half an hour before the cabbie drops them off at their destination; they stand with their luggage outside a tall block of apartments. It looks like a grand hotel, with balconies and a doorman with a red suit and gold tassels. Dave peers up; the sun is reflecting in the windows, almost blinding him and for a moment, a smile graces his lips; he's in New York.

Steve picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder, reaching to grab his other things before he follows Dave towards the doors. The doorman gives them a bow as he lets them in and the two enter an air-conditioned lobby.

And Dave rests eyes on a man he suddenly isn't sure whether he's ready to meet yet. Matt hasn't changed much; he's shaved off the small goatee he had and his jaw looks a little more defined and less babyish than it had. And his eyes are cautious, blue gaze sweeping over the two, a little more surprised to see Steve there. Steve looks back at him, jaw working as his mind battles over whether he should just greet Matt or beat the shit outta him.

He knows he'd much prefer the latter.

Dave clears his throat and offers Matt a smile. 'Alright, son?' he asks, before gesturing around the lobby; there's sofas and chairs in groups where people can sit and a bar, where a tender stands and cleans a glass with a cloth. 'Nice play you got 'ere.'

'Thanks,' Matt replies. 'Do you want to come up?' He turns and strides towards the lift and Dave pauses for a moment; Matt's attitude is completely different here. Back in London, he was new and didn't know anything, so he was ready to please anyone. A fucking arse-licker was what you'd call it. But, now he was in his element. His posture of purposeful and when he looked back at the two, waiting for them to follow, his gaze was serious.

This wasn't going to be a fucking walk in the park.

In the lift, Dave is thankful for cheesy music that plays in the background. Robbie Williams filled the awkward, icy silence that fell over the three as they made their way up. Matt's hands were in the pockets of his jeans and he stared straight ahead of him. Steve still looked angry, working hard to control his temper upon seeing the Buckner, because if he lost his rag now, he knew there was a chance he wouldn't be seeing his son.

The lift pinged and they spilled out into a corridor. The floor was covered in navy blue plush carpet and the walls were beige, gold light fittings and plant pots at every corner. Matt leads them to apartment 426, unlocking the door and letting them in.

The apartment is beautiful; he'll give him that. They walk straight into the main living area, which is spacious. There's a large plasma screen on the wall and a corner sofa that stretches from one end of the room to the other. One wall is made entirely out of floor-to-ceiling window, which overlooks New York. Dave can see the Statue of Liberty here. The flooring is laminate and there's a large bookshelf. On the coffee table are several copies of Matt's book and some papers he seems to be working on.

The kitchen area leads off from the living room and there are doors to Dave's left, which he guessed would lead to bedrooms and bathrooms. He realizes his mouth his opened in awe and he shuts it quickly. Matt is looking at them expectantly.

'Nice of you to change our names,' Steve said; his first words to Matt are gruff and he is looking directly over Matt's shoulder, refusing to make eye contact.

'You managed to work out who was who?' Matt asks.

Dave gives a small, if forced laugh. 'Swill is the only one who orders a Happy Meal from MacDonald's, just for the toy.' Matt lets out a small laugh, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes and it fades quickly.

'How are things for you?'

'Getting there,' shrugs Dave. 'You?'

'Going well. Surprisingly. And I-'

'Where's Shannon?' Steve interrupts. Matt blinks at him.

'She's picking Ben up from day care.'

'When will she be back?' he demands.

'She'll be a while yet,' Matt tells him. 'She's picking up some shopping while she's there,' he explains. Steve says nothing else and Matt looks at Dave.

'Can I get you a drink?'

'Dinner would be nice,' Dave tells him.

--

The three sit on the sofa, plates balanced on the coffee table with glasses of wine as they eat a dinner of mushroom pasta. 'It was a few months before I could do anything,' Matt says; he's telling them about what he did after Pete's death. Steve is staring directly into his wine glass and Dave is watching Matt. 'For the first time in my life, I'd been accepted. Even though I was a Yank, you still took me in. For the first time, I had something to look forward to. The matches, the fights.' He shakes his head. 'And then all that was gone. I didn't have many friends when I was growing up, Dave. And then to fall into a place where you all have such a close bond. I didn't want to ruin anything, I swear.'

'He was my brother,' Steve says, voice low as his eyes flicker up. They're a dark, angry blue and they flash threateningly at Matt. 'He was my brother and you fucking ran away. You could 'ave stayed. Could 'ave done anything.'

'I panicked, okay?' Matt tells him. 'I got scared. I just took my sister and left. There was nothing I could have done.'

'You could 'ave stayed, mate,' Steve says through gritted teeth. Matt sighs and looks down at his lap. Doesn't he realize that Matt knows he could have stayed? That he regretted even leaving?'

'I'm sorry,' he says quietly.

'That doesn't bring Pete back.' Their words are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and they look up to see Shannon pushing the buggy inside.

'I got a few more of those milkshakes you liked, Matt,' she says, coming in. 'I picked up a few of…' She trails off when she catches sight of Steve, eyes going wide and she stops stock-still. Steve gets to his feet, his fork clattering onto the coffee table. The atmosphere is suddenly icy. 'You didn't tell me he was coming,' she says, voice low. 'Just Dave. You said just Dave.'

Matt and Dave get to their feet. 'I didn't know,' Matt replies. Shannon glares accusingly at Dave.

'He wanted to come,' he shrugs. 'I wasn't gonna stop 'im.'

'I'm taking Ben to bed,' she says.

'I want to see him,' Steve says.

'You can see him in the morning. He's tired.' She turns, unstrapping the three year old from his pushchair. His blonde hair has been recently cut and he still has a comb over and his blue eyes look over the two men curiously. He's sucking his thumb. Shannon stalks through to the bedroom without a word.

She shuts the door and then leans against it. Ben rests his head against her shoulder as she sits down, head pressing back against the wooden door. And she cries. She cries because Steve is back. Steve is in there and she's going to have to deal with him. She knows that. Ben looks at her, patting her head and she presses her face into the front of his jumper to conceal her sobs.

**1990**

Dave yawned, stretching out on the rough carpet of the youth club. He was fifteen years old, lanky from that summer's sudden growth spurt, black hair messy and flopping over his forehead. He looked at the ceiling, dark eyes roaming over the cracks and the cobwebs and he sighed.

He'd just been dumped. Which was stupid because he was just about to dump her. He was just about to open his mouth and tell her that it wasn't working and give her the ol' it-isn't-you-it's-me. But, then she'd said it-isn't-you-it's-me.

What the fuck?

Well, he didn't need her anyway. He was pretty fine himself. He listened to the noise of the other kids joking and smoking out the window and passing small bottles of beer between them and he sighed and stretched. He wasn't fine. He was far from it.

It was his mum.

He wasn't fucking stupid; she tried to hide the drink and the vodka bottles, but he knew she had a problem. At first, she didn't drink much; just the weekends, and then a few week days a week and then every other day and then it was all the time. There wasn't a moment when she was swaying, unfocused and laughing to herself, the smell of liquor on her breath. And he'd had enough.

But, he didn't know what to do. Granddad had tried to make her stop and Dave had tried to hide her vodka, pouring them down the sink when she was pissed, but she always had more.

Dave sat up, running a hand through his hair. 'Oi, Biano, want some?' Some kid who couldn't be older than eleven handed him a bottle of cheap whiskey. Dave glanced around to check that the Youth Club reps weren't looking before taking a deep gulp of it.

If she could do it, so could he.

**Now**

Steve sits in the living room with Shannon. It's quiet, the only sound being Ben playing with his toys on the floor. Matt's in his study and Dave's still in bed, jet-lagged after the trip. 'How could you take my son away from me?' Steve asks hoarsely. It's the only question he's wanted an answer for. Needed an answer for. And that is how she could have just whisked Ben away without a word or a letter or a fucking _phone call_.

'I did what I thought was right at the time, Steve. I panicked. I just needed to get out of there.' Shannon studies her hands that are resting on her knees. 'I couldn't have him growing up in a place like that.'

'He's still my son and you 'ad no right.'

'He's our son and I had every right,' Shannon snaps in reply, looking up at him. He's changed over the past year; the scar is pink, twisted and ugly on his neck and gingery stubble lines his jaw. But, those blue eyes are those of Steve Dunham- they haven't changed and they look at her with hate.

Ben starts to cry, breaking the silence that has formed over them. Before Shannon can move towards him, Steve gets up and moves towards Ben, cradling his little boy in his arms. 'Don't worry, son,' he murmurs as he rocks the sobbing tot. 'I'm 'ere now.'

--

**So, Steve and Shannon have finally seen each other again. It was very hard to control Steve and have him NOT break Matt's nose. So, what did you think?**


	8. Rage

**Another update :D A little shorter than usual. Thank's for thre reviews so far :D They really cheer me up! **

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter Seven

Rage

Bov stands outside the pub, staring up at the freshly painted sign that hangs above the door. _The Abbey._ It's been a long time since he's stepped foot inside these doors. He isn't sure whether he's ready to now. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette before chucking the butt on the floor and stamping it out with his heel. He's a little drunk, almost losing balance as he grinds the butt into the floor, but he steadies himself. He's lost count on how many he's drunk.

Then, Bov sets his jaw and pushes his way in. It's not very full; what did he expect? It's mid-week, most of the punters slaving away at office jobs. But, he doesn't care about that, because stood at the bar is Keith, Ned and Terry. And Swill. He didn't take long to get fucking cosy, did he?

Bov's eyes narrow a little as he regards them all. Then, he demands, 'Where's Dave?' Ned and Keith exchange looks. 'He wants to see me. Come on, where is he?'

'He's gone to America,' Ned pipes up, before looking at the floor. Bov forces a bitter laugh.

'Prefers the Yank to us, huh?' he spits, before turning to the nearest table. He grabs a glass and chucks it on the floor. It smashes, spilling shards and beer across the floor. A couple get up and quickly leave. 'The fuck you lookin' at?' Bov snarls to a man sat near, who quickly looks away.

Terry shakes his head, moving around the bar and striding towards Bov. Bov gives a laugh, raising his arms in a _come-get-me_ gesture. 'What you gonna do?' he slurred. Terry grabs him, pretty much throwing him back through the double doors and out into the street. Bov stumbles, before finding his feet and glaring up at Terry. 'Fuck you, you cunt.'

'No, fuck _you_. I'm trying to run a fucking business in there. I already lost it the fucking first time.' Bov turns his face away, lip curling in scorn, but Terry slaps his face, forcing him to look straight at him. 'Fucking look at me, alright? We all lost Pete. He meant something to all of us, but that doesn't mean we 'ave to fucking walk around looking like our mother's spanked us. We 'ave to get on with our lives.'

'He was my best friend,' Bov protests, forcing the words out bitterly.

'And he was Steve's brother. And Steve is getting on with his life and focusing on Ben. Focus on _something_, Bov,' Terry says, tone softened a little though he still looks pissed. He sighs, rubbing his jaw and shaking his head. Then, he turns and walks back into the pub.

Bov spits on the floor.

--

'I want to take Ben 'ome with me.'

Shannon has wondered when those words would come. There's a reason why Steve's here and this is it. To take her son away, just as she'd done with him. Steve's studying her, waiting for a reaction and she lets her head fall forward, focusing on the floor for a moment. 'It ain't fair, Shan. He 'as family back 'ome too.' Steve's face hardens for a moment. 'I'll take it to court if I 'ave too,' he says in a dangerously low voice. Shannon looks up at him with tears in her eyes. She has no choice. If he did go to court, they'd hear about her running off with him. Would they think of it as kidnapping? Her own son? But, Steve's serious, his eyes never leaving her face and Shannon gives a small nod.

'A couple of weeks,' she told him. 'Then, I want to see him again.' She turns her back, not giving him time to make any protest, but Steve stays quiet. 'I'll pack his bag,' she says dejectedly as she heads through to the bedroom.

--

Ike stands outside the printing factory, out in the yard where the back doors are. He's smoking, a cup of coffee in one hand and an I.D tag around his neck with his face and name on it. His hands are covered in ink from the latest batch and he's watching Bov with a dark expression on his face. 'Dave's coming 'ome,' he says, gauging Bov's reaction. The other man's face hardens a little. 'He wants to meet.'

'Yeah, I'm gonna meet 'im,' Bov replies, taking a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaling the smoke in a cloud through his nose.

'Don't do anything stupid,' Ike warns. Bov stays quiet and Ike narrows his eyes. 'I mean it. At least he's fucking trying.'

'Maybe I don't wanna try,' Bov hisses, flicking the butt of his cigarette on the floor. The cheery bounces, going out on the damp floor. 'Maybe I just want 'im to leave things how they are.'

'When are you gonna get it into your 'ead that things 'ave changed. They changed the moment Pete died and it ain't ever gonna be the same again.'

'Don't say 'is name,' Bov says, voice hoarse as he takes a step towards Ike. Ike squares his shoulders.

'Why? He was my friend too, Bov. Stop being fucking selfish and sort yourself out.'

'Fuck you-'

'Ike?' The door has swung open behind them and a balding man with a pot belly stands there. 'When you've finished tiffing with your girlfriend, can we get back to work? Your break finished five minutes ago.' Ike nods and watches as his boss disappeared back inside. Then, he looks back at Bov.

'I mean it. Don't do anything stupid.' He drains his cup and then stalks back inside without another look at Bov.

--

The airport is crowded, filled with bustling people dragging cases and talking on phones and pulling away screaming children. Matt looks Dave over, before giving a nod, being sure that he has all his baggage. 'I'll be in London soon for a book signing,' he tells him. 'We'll catch up, yeah? I promise.'

Dave nods. Steve says nothing, but focuses on Ben, who's resting in his father's arms. 'Call me when you land,' Matt adds, before taking a step back. Steve moves away, picking up his case and walking through the terminal, towards his plane. Dave hesitates and Matt gives a small laugh. 'You'll miss your flight.'

'Thank you,' Dave says, ducking his head a little. The tips of Matt's ears go pink.

'What for?'

'For telling Pete's story. We might hate you for it, but someone had to tell it,' Dave smiles. Matt smiles back before extending his hand.

'Goodbye, Dave.'

'Laters, son,' Dave replies, shaking his hand. Then, he picks up his bag and follows Steve towards the plane. Matt watches for a moment, a small smile lingering on his lips, before he turns and heads home.


	9. Disagreements

**:D I'm back. I don't really have much of an authors note to put up here, other than a big thank you for your reviews. They've kept me going with this :D It's sad to think that this time next week, I'll be posting the final chapter! And it doesn't help that I'm listening to a sad song right now! This chapter is dedicated to Katherine :D BHFL! Best Hooligans for Life!**

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter Eight

Disagreements 

**2005**

'Trusting lads.' Pete said, glaring down at Bov with so much hate in his blue eyes. 'You always said trusting lads was my problem, Bov. I trust lads too much. Trust the Yank_ too_ much. This is how you prove your point?' he spat, fists balling at his sides. 'Backstabbing me? Teaming up with _Tommy Hatcher_ to kill the Major? Kill my fucking brother?!'

Bov shrunk back, tears threatening to spill and he sniffed, trying to hold them back. His chest felt tight, horribly tight, a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach like he was going to be sick. 'I'll kill Tommy,' he said, desperate, anything to get his best friend back on his side. Please don't hate me. 'Just say the word and I'll do it.'

'I don't need you for that,' Pete replied, voice full of scorn. 'I don't need you for anything anymore.' Bov looked up, blinking, not wanting to hear that. He reached out to grab Pete's hand, his arm, anything to make him stay, but Pete yanked it away. 'Go. Away.'

'Please, I fucked up,' Bov protested, his throat tight. He could barely get the words out. But, Pete shook his head and took a step back. Bov ran his hands over his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Then, he got to his feet, swaying, uneasy. Matt looked at him, face emotionless as Bov moved past.

Bov stumbled out the hospital, leaning against the wall. He pressed his face into it, stomach churning sickenly, the brick rough against his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, before bending double and retching.

**Now**

This is the first time Dave's seen Arthur Mason outside of the prison. It's his daughter's ninth birthday and she's having a garden party. There's a bouncy castle on the grass and a BBQ going on the patio. Mason's wife, Joelle, sits on a chair, painting the face of her daughter. Yasmin is being made to look like a tiger and she giggles as the brush tickles her dark cheeks.

Kids run and play about in the back garden, music playing from inside the house. It's a warm day, not many clouds in the sky and the sun beaming as if it too, is physically happy.

Dave nurses a beer in his hands, before Mason glances at him. 'So, how's life on the outside?'

'It's good. The missus is 'appy to 'ave me back,' Dave replies with a grin.

'You found any work?' Mason asks, knowing how difficult it could be for someone who'd been locked up to find work afterwards. Dave shakes his head.

'Nah, I ain't tried to look yet. I need to send out some applications though,' he explains.

'You know, there are some jobs going at the prison,' Mason tells him. 'We're in need of some guards.' Dave gives a laugh and shakes his head.

'I've spent my whole life 'ating them. I don't think I wanna become on of them. Thanks anyway, but I'll give it a miss.'

Mason smiles and shakes his head. 'Well, if things get desperate, give me a call.' Dave grins, taking a drink of his beer and looking back out towards the garden. A group of children chase around the bouncy castle, a line forming behind Yasmin, eager for their faces to be painted too.

'Might 'ave to get me own face done,' Dave muses. 'Your wife's quite an artist.' Mason chuckles, shoves his shoulder gently and turns to deal with the BBQ.

Dave takes a sip from his can, before he, too, turns to the BBQ. 'Ere, son, you gotta turn 'em before they burn,' he says, taking the prongs and turning the sausages and beef burgers

--

Dave's walking home when he hears footsteps behind him and then something collides firmly with his back. He stumbles, before turning to give the little yob what for.

Except, it's not some little yob.

It's Bov. And he's angry.

His navy blue eyes blaze fiercely as he looks Dave up and down. Finally, they're here together and suddenly Dave doesn't know what to say or do, other than stare, caution in his eyes. 'Came up from behind?' he finds himself saying. 'Must be losing your touch, son.'

Bov doesn't even answer. Instead, he launches himself at Dave, fist connecting with his jaw before Dave can even protect himself. Bov grabs his jacket, swinging him to the ground and is quick to kneel down on Dave, knee jutting into his side painfully, fists hitting out at his face again.

Dave swings a fist up, blocking one of Bov's punches, before rolling onto his stomach and throwing Bov off. Dave reaches out, grabbing his arm to yank him backwards. Bov hits the floor with a thud, head cracking on the floor, but he kicks out. His foot connects with Dave's stomach, sending him reeling backwards and winded.

Bov gets up, punching Dave again. White sparks erupt in his vision, jaw aching and he can taste blood. Bov comes at him again.

'Oi!' A yell breaks through their fighting and they look up to see Swill coming towards them. 'What the fuck you doing?' he demands.

'Stay outta this,' Bov snarls. His lip is bleeding where Dave had got a throw in. He turns and glares at Dave. 'I want you to leave me alone,' he said, pointing at him. 'Stop trying to mess things up. You don't fucking understand, do you? Everything's ruined!' Bov's eyes were crazed and he was trembling slightly.

Dave watches him, cautious. 'Bov, son, I-'

'Don't fucking son me!' He stares intently at Dave for a heartbeat, before stalking off, shouldering past Swill as he went. Dave doesn't move until Bov has disappeared . Then, he touches his jaw with a wince.

It cracks when he moves it. Swill moves forward. 'Oi, come on,' he said, shaking his head. 'You shouldn't 'ave gotten into that with 'im.'

'If you hadn't noticed, Bov started on me,' Dave snaps back as the two make their way down the street. Swill shakes his head.

'Bov's always been angry. Even when we knew him, right from the beginning. They ain't gonna be no changing 'im, Dave. Fuck, you're bleeding.' Dave touches his brow where blood trickled down his cheek. He sighs as they continue towards his house. Red's in the garden, planting some flowers. She's humming, gardening gloves swamping her small hands.

She looks up and her grin fades when she catches sight of Dave's face. 'Shit, what 'appened? 'Ave you been fighting?' she demands, brushing dirt from her knees and coming forward. Then, she tuts and leads the two inside.

He takes a seat at the table as Red collects the first aid kit from beneath the sink. 'So, you gonna tell me what 'appened?'

'Bov 'appened,' Dave grumbles in reply. 'He's pissed, just cause I want to see how my boys are.' He rubs his eyes and Red swats his hand away and begins to clean the graze with a damp cloth. 'I'm only trying to 'elp,' Dave continues.

'Babe,' sighs Red, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Sometimes, there's people who don't want to be 'elped. And Bov's one of them.'


	10. Unfortunate Hooligan Accident

**Hello!! So, here we have the prenultimate chapter :O Thank you for keeping with the story, even if i wasn't sure about it in some parts! :D I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter Nine

Unfortunate Hooligan Accident

Bov pushes deep into the girl, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. A low groan escapes his throat and she kisses his lips. His hand knots in her blonde hair. What's her name again? Alex? Casey? Does it really fucking matter? He pulls out, just to thrust himself up to the hilt, when there's a loud knocking on the door.

'Wait a minute, Pete!' he yells without thinking, before going still. His eyes darken. _Pete?_ The girl beneath him frowns.

'Bov?' she urges, rolling her hips. Bov pulls out of her and away completely, leaving her spread legged on the bed. She covers herself quickly and sits on her elbows, eyes narrowed, as Bov pulls his boxers over his hips. 'Bov,' she demands. He ignores her and walked towards the door. Unlocking it, he pulls it open and stares at the man in the doorway.

Dave.

He's looking back with a frown. 'You yelled Pete,' he states. Bov says nothing and after a moment, he steps back into his apartment. The girl is pulling her shirt over her head and she gives Dave a flirtatious smile.

'Is a treat? Didn't tell me you was gonna get me a present,' she giggles.

'Get out,' Bov says, holding the door open for her. She frowns.

'What?'

'This is a door. Now, walk through it.' She flushed, gathering her clothes and stalking past him, shouldering past Dave as she went.

'You treat all your birds like that?' Dave asks. Bov scowls.

'You coming the fuck in or what?' he demands. Dave steps into the apartment and Bov slams the door shut behind him, reaching for his can of beer on the side. Dave looks around; the apartment is untidy, cans littering the floor, dirty clothes in piles and the TV is on its side. Bov used to be quite a clean man and suddenly... It was like a war zone in here.

Bov is still watching him carefully, so Dave turns to face him. 'The other day you said you didn't want Pete to be forgotten.'

'And?' he shrugs, though his eyes are cautious, wondering what Dave is getting at.

'He ain't gonna be forgotten, Bov.'

'By us, he won't,' Bov tells him. 'But, every fucker else? It was just that unfortunate hooligan accident that 'appened last year. They don't give a fuck.'

'Pete ain't coming back,' Dave says, voice quiet. 'I know it's 'ard and you can't fight us all. You can spit and scream and fling your fucking rattle out the buggy for all I care, but he ain't coming back. You've gotten get outta this cycle you're in. Before you 'urt yourself.'

'You 'ave no fucking idea how I feel,' Bov glares. Dave steps forward.

'We all lost Pete.'

'It was my fault,' Bov hisses, blurting out his true feelings for the first time. He runs his hands over his head with a growl of frustration. 'I betrayed him. He's dead because of me!' He sniffs angrily, trying to bite back his emotions. 'And people are forgetting about him.'

--

Maria sits on the park bench beside Steve, watching as Ben scrambles up the wooden stairs to go down the slide. There's a huge grin on the little boy's face, Dunham blue eyes bright. Then, she glances across at her oldest son, a tired smile on her face.

She always looked tired these days. It's weird seeing it; she used to be full of life, almost cooking or cleaning or gardening, forever on her feet with a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eye.

'I'm proud of you, Steve,' she tells him. Steve looks at her, before he puts his arm around her shoulders.

'I know, mum.'

Maria sighs, looking back at Ben as he tries to climb up the slide, shoes leaving streaks of mud on the metal. Tears form in her eyes and she gives a small sob, trying to stifle the sound by covering her mouth. 'I'm sorry,' she cries, squeezing her eyes shut.

Steve hugs her tighter, quieting her. 'Ssh, it's alright. Don't be sorry.' His heart feels heavy, but he's cried enough tears for his brother.

He doesn't realize it would hurt this much. When Shannon left, his heart had been broken, but then Pete had died and it feels as though his whole body is confused with fire and rage and hatred and the salty taste of tears. He comforts his mother, who weeps quietly in her hands.

Ben looks over curiously, before plucking a handful of dandelions from the grass. He rushes over, thrusting them at Maria with a small smile.

Maria lowers her hands, a tearful, but genuine smile on her face. She takes them, fingers trailing over the yellow.

'Thank you, Ben,' she murmurs.

**1986**

The Airshow was brimming with people, the sound of jet engines drowning out the noise of thousands trying to get a look at the planes on the runway.

Eleven year old Dave sat on a fold up chair beside his grandad, trying his best to grab a rather large hotdog into his mouth. Granddad Harry raised a long finger to the air, grey eyes narrowed against the sun. 'You see that? You see that there?'

'Yeah,' Dave said, mouth full as he peered at the plane soaring through the sky.

'That's an Avro Vulcan,' the old man explained. Dave's eyes followed the camouflage coloured plane against the blue summer's sky. 'It's a delta wing subsonic jet bomber that was operated by the Royal Air Force. One of my favourite planes, that is.'

'Hey, look,' Dave exclaimed, almost out his chair as he peered to see another plane take off. 'It's a... a...'

'Chinook,' Granddad finished for him, with a smile. 'A CH-47D Chinook, to be precise.'

'Yeah!' Dave grinned.

'Want to tell me about it?' Harry asked, looking across at his grandson, teaching him everything he, himself, knew about planes.

Dave frowned for a moment, scratching his chin as he tried to remember. 'Twin-engine,' he replied. 'Its top speed is...' he bit his bottom lip, before grinning. 'Top speed is 170 knots.'

'What's it used for?'

'Troop movement, artillery emplacement and battlefield resupply.'

'Good,' Granddad nodded and they sat back, watching as the Red Arrows flew in circles and loops, spreading blue and red and white across the sky.

'What did you fly in the war, Granddad?' Dave asked after a moment, finishing his hotdog and wiping his fingers on his jeans. Granddad was quiet for a moment.

'A flew a Spitfire. Powerful thing, it was. You won't be able to imagine how I felt up there.'

'Was it scary?'

Harry looked down at his grandson's curious expression and gave a nod. 'Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.'

'What was it like to be shot, granddad?' Dave persisted, but Harry laughed and ruffled his hair.

'I'll tell you when you're older.' Dave nodded, feeling a little disappointed but knowing not to ask for now. He knew his grandad didn't like talking about the war. He frowned, kicking his legs before straightening up as he caught sight of another plane, still waiting to take off.

'What kind of plane is that?' he asked. Granddad paused for a moment, as he looked the plane over, before giving a smile.

'That, Dave, is a Tornado F3,' he replied, eyes crinkling in the corners as he chuckled. Dave's eyes went like saucers. _Tornado F3_? It sounded big and powerful and fast!

'What's it for, Granddad?' he asked impatiently.

'It's an RAF plane. There's three different, urm, _versions _of it, shall we say.'

'Which versions that?'

'It looks like a Tornado IDS. It's a fighter-bomber.'

Dave grinned, eyes still on the plane. 'I'm going to fly a Tornado when I grow up, Granddad,' he said eagerly.

'Are you really?' Harry laughed, lighting his pipe and taking a puff.

'Yeah! And I'm going to be the best there is!'

**Now**

Red sits at the kitchen table, glitter covering the surface, her hands, sticking her in hair and on the tip of her nose. The table top was hidden beneath glue pots and bits of cut paper and card as she lifted one of her makings to shake the glitter off.

'Tadda!' she shrills as Dave comes into the kitchen, laughing when he sees her.

'What's this?' he asks, hanging his jacket over the back of the chair.

'Invites,' she grins, patting a pile at her side.

'What for?' he asks, peering at the very glittery and pink invites.

'To our garden party. It's summer, I don't see why not. And it'll give you an excuse to get that old BBQ out again,' she replies, blowing glitter from her hands with no real affect. She stands up, picks up the invites and hands them to Dave with a grin. 'Give 'em out, will ya?'

**Love it or hate it? REVIEW!**


	11. Remember Pete

**The last chapter is finally here! I've really enjoyed writing this and hope you lot have enjoyed reading :) It's supposed to kind of be a little… cliff hangery, the final chapter, so it's what you call an 'open ending'. So, I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it's a day late too haha. **

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter Ten

Remember Pete

Matt meets Dave in the store room of the bookshop he's doing his book signing in. He has a pen in the top pocket of his shirt, ready to scrawl his signature into the books of his fans. He offers Dave a small smile. 'Thanks for coming along,' he says. Dave ducks his head a little.

'I said I would,' he replies. Matt gives a nod, pushing his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers.

'How's Ben?' he asks, looking up with cool blue eyes. Dave guesses he didn't like the fact that Steve had swooped in and taken his son back to England. 'Shannon's been worri-'

'It's not like Steve don't know 'ow to look after his own son,' Dave cuts in. Matt opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it and goes quiet. Dave watches as he scratches the back of his neck, awkwardly.

'Why didn't you hit me or something?' Matt asks, meeting Dave's gaze. 'When you first saw me. After everything I did…'

'Trust me, I wanted to,' Dave replies with a small chuckle, but it dies away. 'I did. I wanted to, so bad, but what would it gain? Yeah, it would be fucking good to smack you one, but what's done is done. You'd still 'ave a book out and…' _Pete would still be dead_. He doesn't finish the sentence though, letting it hang, unfinished, in the air. Matt nods.

'I was expecting a whole load of shit to come by way,' he tells him. 'I thought I was prepared for whatever was going to happen, but when you came through that door…'

Dave waves a hand. 'It's done now, son,' he tells him. The door behind them opens and a mousey young man, who has to be in his late teens, peers in.

'We're ready for you now, Mr Buckner,' he says timidly, a nervous smile on his lips.

'Yeah, gimme a minute,' Matt tells him. The man nods and disappears. Matt turns back to Dave. 'So, this is it?'

'I think so,' Dave nods. Matt sighs, before holding out a hand. Dave clasps it, giving it a firm shake. Then, Matt leaves through the door. He's instantly met by cheering and Dave gets a glimpse of the audience waiting for him, books held tight in trembling hands.

Dave slips out of the storeroom and is gone before Matt can get another look. He walks down the road to where Swill is waiting, leaning against the bonnet of his car. He's holding two polystyrene cups and he hands one to Dave as he approaches. 'Say your goodbyes then?' Swill asks, straightening up and rocking on the balls of his feet.

'Yeah; he said he was thankful I didn't beat the shit outta him,' Dave replies. Swill grins brightly, blue eyes glittering with mischief and this only makes Dave's own smile bigger. 'Well, Red 'as the Barbie waiting and I'm fucking 'ungry, so can we get a move on?' he demands. Dave rolls his eyes.

'You're always 'ungry.'

'Am I fuck!' Swill protests, before taking a drink of his coffee and wincing when the liquid scalds his tongue. Dave shakes his head, still laughing.

'Get in, I'll drive,' he says and moves around the car to slip into the driver's seat.

--

It's odd having Shannon sitting on his sofa again, after all that has happened and all that's been done. She looks nervous herself, hands twisted on her lap. Her back is straight, stiff, and she sends Steve glances every now and again. 'You know, I'd been thinking of coming back to England,' she starts. 'I guess I have no choice, but to now. Seeing as you're so insistent on seeing Ben.'

'Well, he is my son,' Steve shoots back, looking up. 'You think I can't look after 'im or something?'

'I didn't say that,' Shannon says. 'I just think he'd be better with his mother.'

'Look, we'll work something out, but I ain't letting you take 'im from me again,' Steve says, voice low, not allowing any protest. Shannon's jaw hardens for a moment, before she changes her strategy. She shifts, leaning forward to place a hand on his arm.

'You know, I still love you, right?' she tells him with a smile. 'I just did what I thought was best for Ben. I couldn't have him growing up there, not after what happened.'

Steve shook her hand off, eyes narrowing. 'You broke this family up,' he growls in reply, before slipping off the sofa to play with Ben. Shannon sits up with a sigh, running her hand over her hair.

As much as she hates it, she knows Steve is right. Ben is still his son and Shannon did run off with him, but didn't he understand that it was for the best? That Ben had been in danger because of Steve. Because Steve hadn't been able to keep his past in the past. Her eyes follow the ridge of the scar on his neck and she shudders.

She'd hated leaving him in that hospital bed, all sad and broken. She loved him, she still did! But, she'd had to get away before anyone else got hurt.

_But, she'd __gone back_. She'd gone back and Pete had died protecting her. Protecting Ben. Tears sting her eyes and she sniffs, biting her lip to hold them back.

She's broken this family and now she was going to do whatever she could to fix it. No matter what.

--

The sky is almost a perfect blue, give or take a few white clouds that hang still in the London sky. The expanse of Dave's back garden is filled with people milling around, beers in hands, laughter on lips.

Small children race around the legs of their parents, chasing each other around bushes and plants, squealing; Red's nieces and nephews, Dave's cousins, parents and uncles and aunties. Keith, Ned, Ike and Swill are there, stood around the BBQ. Steve is sat on the bench Dave has pulled out from his garage, feeding Ben cut up hot dog.

The young boy grins, stuffing it into his mouth. Red moves over, wrapping her arms around Dave's waist and leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. 'It's going well,' she beams. Dave grins, kissing the top of her head.

'Oi,' Swill says, nudging Dave. 'You're burning it!' Dave quickly turns away from his wife to deal with the almost black burgers, a sheepish grin falling on his face. He quickly dishes a couple of burgers onto Swill's paper plate, balanced on top of all the other foods Swill had on there and the man moves to sit opposite Steve.

'Ere, gimme one,' Steve says, gesturing to Swill's plate now piled high with burgers, hotdogs, crisps and even a little bit of salad. Swill leans protectively over his food, before grinning playfully and pushing the plate over.

'Elp yourself. Just don't eat 'em all, I'm starved.'

Dave puts some uncooked sausages on the grill. There's a movement at the corner of his eye and he looks up to see Laura stood, a little awkwardly, beside Ike. Ike puts an arm around her waist and pulls her closer. She bites her bottom lip, frowning for a moment as if she's preparing herself to speak. Then, Laura meets Dave's eye.

'I'm sorry I was a little 'ard on you all,' she apologises. 'I was just scared about Ike going out there and-'

'Don't worry about it,' Dave tells her with a smile. 'It's alright for you to get worried.' Laura goes pink, but nods and huddles into Ike's side.

There's a loud laugh from the table and they look across to see Swill laughing loudly, eyes squeezed shut and a huge grin on his face. Steve sits opposite him, a disgruntled look on his face and a streak of Ben's sick down his front.

Swill bangs his fist on the table, still howling with laughter and Dave grins because his old friend is back and he's thankful.

Red tugs his hand and gives him a look, nodding towards the rest of the group. Dave clears his throat. 'Y'know, I was thinking…'

'Did it 'urt?' Swill asks, coming over to join them and wiping tears from his eyes, still chuckling.

'It's about what Bov said.'

He gets their attention now and he continues. 'He said he didn't want Pete to be forgotten.'

'Mate,' Ned pipes up. 'He ain't forgotten. Not by us, he never will be.'

'Yeah, not by us,' Dave replies. 'But, what about everyone else? Bovver didn't want everyone else forgetting 'im either.'

'How do you suppose we fix that?' Keith asks, a sceptical expression on his face. 'We can't go 'round the 'ole of London, telling everybody to remember a guy they never knew.'

'But, we can make them aware,' Swill pipes up and shrugs when all eyes fall on him. 'I mean, there must be a way we can remind them about Pete, right Dave?'

Dave nods. 'Yeah, there is. Actually, I was thinking about it and I guess it could work. I mean, I'd pay for it, cause it'd be an expensive job…'

Ike looks at him, before giving a smile. 'What've you got in mind?'

**2006**

Dave stared up at the upper bunk, eyes following the rough pattern of the mattress and the cool shine of the bars in the moonlight that were holding it up. The wall beside him was covered in scratches and marks and numbers and crosses, small pictures of stick men in various dead positions etched beside the bar, where no prison guard would see it.

Dave didn't even want to know who drew them and why.

His first night banged up wasn't going well; he was kept awake by every bang, groan, yell from the prisoners, keys rattled by guards. He missed the comfort of his own bed, Red sleeping next to him.

This mattress was lumpy and hard under his back and he shifted awkwardly, trying to find a good sleeping position. His eyes stung with fatigue, but still, he stayed awake.

He missed the sound of the Abbey on match-day, the songs being roared at the top of lungs and the taste of beer. Shit, it had been months since he'd last tasted something other than tap-water. The last few months had been court-time, juries, lawyers, telling his story over and over and insisting that it was Hatcher who needed locking up. Hatcher was the bad one.

Hatcher killed Pete.

The bed above Dave creaked as Keith shifted and then continued to snore. Dave grabbed his pillow, putting it over his face. He blinked in the pitch black darkness, breathing muffled and hot against his face. He just wanted to sleep.

But, there'd been this nightmare. One nightmare that had been keeping him up for months; the scene of the final fight. Christ, it had been so hard getting Hatcher off. He was like an animal, roaring and spitting and grunting and Dave had pulled with all his might, but it had been too late.

Dave shut his eyes beneath the pillow, breathing steady and shallow now. His heart hurt with each laboured breath, the pain still raw. It hurt. Fuck, it hurt.

He didn't want to be here. He wanted the past months to have been a dream. A bad, bad dream that he'd wake up from any minute now.

Any minute now…

He didn't wake up because this wasn't a dream. This nightmare was real.

Tears wet the material of the pillow and with a snarl, he ripped it off his face and chucked it against the wall, covering his face with his hands. The snoring stopped and after a beat, another creak of the bed.

'Dave?' Keith asked. 'You alright, mate?'

Dave took a deep breath and cleared his throat. 'Yeah, yeah I'm fine.'

'You can get in with me, if you want, babe?' Keith asked, trying to sound serious, but the laughter was evident in his tone and Dave could tell he was grinning into the darkness.

'You're a funny fucker, ain't you?'

'I'm a good substitute for Red,' Keith replied, rolling onto his back, the bunk creaking again. Dave just chuckled, shutting his eyes and trying to force himself to sleep. It didn't work and he stayed awake for the rest of the night.

**Now**

Dave moves across the cemetery, feet crunching on the gravel path as he walks past rows and rows of headstones. He steps off the gravel, walks across the grass that seems to sink a little under his feet. His brown eyes read each name carved into the marble as he passes, until they finally land on the one he wants.

_Peter Andrew Dunham_

_1980-2005_

_Beloved son, brother, uncle and friend._

Dave pauses, the smooth, cool marble cold to the touch. 'Alright, son?' he greets. The last time he was here, it was at the funeral. He takes a moment, before sitting down in front of it. Flowers have been placed in the stand in front of the gravestone, red and orange petals moist and fresh when Dave touches them. They have to be at least a day old, if that.

He stays quiet for a moment, the light breeze ghosting across his face and he picks at the threads hanging at the bottoms of his jeans. He looks up. 'Bet you love it up there, you lucky sod,' he starts. 'Chilling out with a beer and big fuck-off wings, the angels pampering to your every need,' he chuckles, but it fades and he frowns at the grass.

'I ain't sure what to say. I mean, I ain't spoken to a headstone before,' he says, but he knows he's not talking to stone. He's talking to Pete. 'Ben's gotten big, son. He's back 'ome with Steve now. He's safe.' He wonders if Pete will already know this. 'I've been trying to see the lads again. Just make sure they're alright. Jesus, son, it's been 'ard.'

Dave runs his hand over his face wearily. It _has_ been hard, these past couple of weeks; from seeing Swill, all defensive and closed up to travelling to America and seeing Matt. It was all catching up with him now and he just wanted to sit back and relax. Dave looks up at the headstone again. It's clean, new looking. No moss grew on it like the others and there were no weeds in the soil around it.

Someone is keeping it tidy, Dave realizes. 'I wish you were 'ere,' Dave continues. 'I need you. Bovver needs you. We _all_ do.' He clasps his hands in front of him as if he was saying a prayer. 'Matt wrote a book. About all of this,' he says. 'I wanted to 'ate 'im for it, but…' he shrugs. 'It's 'arder than that. Cause in some ways, Bov's right. You can't be forgotten, it's not fair. And if Matt's book stops you getting forgotten, then I can't 'ate 'im, right?'

He desperately wants an answer. He wants Pete to suddenly be there, telling him everything would be alright and telling him not to worry. 'What do I do now, Pete?' he asks and his voice is low. 'I lost me job, almost lost me 'ome when I was banged up. I've got the boys, but it ain't like we're gonna be fighting any more. I don't know what to do.'

'Start afresh,' says a voice behind him and Dave instantly gets to his feet, but when he turns, Maria Dunham is staring up at him. She seems to have gotten frailer from the last time he saw her, but she offers a weak smile. 'Please. Sit.' He nods and the two sit down together in front of the headstone. Maria looks at it, almost longing it not to have the name of her youngest son engraved in its stone.

'How long 'ave you been there?' he asks, putting his hand in the pocket of his coat and pulling out some rosary beads. He trails them over his fingers.

'Not long,' Maria replies. 'I meant what I said, though. You gotta start afresh.'

'How do I do that?' Dave asks, frowning as he twists the beads around his hand.

'You're a young man, you 'ave a house, a wife. What's stopping you 'aving a few kids to fill that garden of yours? You gotta continue with life.'

'Kids cost money,' Dave points out.

'You'd be surprised of the number of employers who'll still take on men who've been convicted.' Dave doesn't say anything and she glances across at the beads. 'Catholic?'

'My mother's,' he replies, before taking Maria's hand and putting the beads into them. 'They calm me down, if I'm angry or upset. When I see 'em, I know everything ain't as bad as it seems.'

'All for morale you, ain't you,' Maria says, but for once there's a smile on her face as she clasps the beads. Dave smiles and Maria sighs. 'I just want 'im back,' she says. Dave nods.

'I know. We all do.'

--

Ike stands beside several stacks of boxes, an expectant, but nervous grin on his face. He slaps the top box with the palm on his hand. 'Freshly made 'alf 'our ago. You ready?' Dave nods and turns to the group of men standing behind him; there's Keith, Ned and Swill, as well as Terry and Steve and a few men from the pub, all eager to help out.

Dave rubs his hand together. 'Right, grab a box each. Gimme a text when you're ready.' They come forward, all trying to grab one. The boxes are large, brown with _Urgent_ stamped on the top. When the others disperse, Dave picks one up in his arms. He slaps Ike on the shoulder. 'Thanks, son.' Ike nods, watching as Dave walks off down the cobbled street.

--

Bov sits at his desk in the call centre, listening to the drone of a lady complaining about her BT connection. He gazes idly out the window, wondering why he even went back to this job in the first place and thinking about his cold pint that he'd have during his lunch break.

His eyes follow the brick work of the building opposite, before he catches something at the corner of his eye. Bov watches with a furrowed brow, as a piece of white paper flutters to the ground.

And another. And another.

Bov frowns and cuts the call while the woman is in mid-rant. He tugs his headphones off and gets to his feet, grabbing his jacket. He ignores the calls of his boss at 'where the fuck he thought he was going?' and pushes open the double doors to get outside.

He looks up at the tall building. Leaflets are falling from the top like awkward bits of large snow. They flutter, twist, turn in the air, before littering the ground at their feet. People look up, point and shout to each other, curious as to who was dropping leaflets from the building.

It isn't just this building. In the distance, towards Central London, streams of white can be seen pouring off the sides.

A flyer falls at Bov's feet and he bends, picking it up. He turns it over, startled at the image of Pete grinning back at him. He remembers the photo; taken at Pete's 21st birthday, beer raised and a triumphant, cocky grin on his lips.

Two words are printed beneath the picture, bold and red.

_Remember Pete._

The smile is on Bov's lips before he can prevent it. He realizes what Dave's done; flyers all over London, reminding people of Pete Dunham. The best friend anyone could ever have. Bov folds the flyer and slips it into his pocket.

Turning, he walks back into the call centre.

He knows Dave is right. He has to focus on the future now.


End file.
